


Come Running Home To You

by blipintiime, cxptained



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Jack Needs a Hug, M/M, Memories, Murder, Nightmares, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxptained/pseuds/cxptained
Summary: "Ianto pushes himself to his feet and away from the couch. He crosses the room with a hand out stretched that comes to rest on Jack’s cheek, fingers sliding down to the curve of his jaw. The immortal flinches for a split second before the touch works as miracle cure for the tension in his shoulders. He’s been holding himself so stiffly as he stood there – uncomfortable and unsure – but Ianto touches his skin and it melts from him like the first drip of wax from a candle freshly lit.“Nightmares?” Ianto asks knowingly. He is no stranger to the nights that Jack has surged forward to wake, eyes wild and breath heavy. While nightmares are far and few between when Ianto is tucked beside him, they are not banished for good. Nothing ever could. But they’re certainly easier to deal with when his beloved is in arm’s reach. A knight in shining armour, poised to fight his demons every day and night."When nightmares come for Jack Harkness, and his usually sleeping partner is not beside him, he crosses the city to find the comfort he so often craves after a truly terrible dream. Ianto Jones will always be there for him when he needs him the most.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112





	Come Running Home To You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I (cxptained) and my Ianto (blipintiime) decided we needed some absolute tooth rotting Janto fluff. And what's fluff without a little emotional turmoil? But it is cute, we promise!

It’s never the same when he’s not here. It’s never as easy to sleep so gently, nor peacefully when he’s not here. He cannot trust his mind not to pull images to the forefront that he once kept hidden. So, he never tries when he’s not here.

Without Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness does not sleep.

_It’s 1964, life is lived loud and proud by most that settle in Wales. Every night, bars and clubs are filled with the young population of the city for a night of drinking and music that they certainly won’t remember come tomorrow morning. Captain Jack Harkness roams among those who have taken their night to the Double Diamond Club. Released from his duties at the Hub for the night, he moves easily through a packed dance floor._

_His hands brush across his fellow partiers, unable to do much about it in such a tight crowd though nobody seems to notice let alone mind. Finally making his way across to the bar, he comes to lean one elbow on the sticky wooden surface._

_“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.” Jack orders when a young man briefly glances in his direction. He receives a nod in return and Jack has little else to do than look out into the sea of the welsh dancing like nobody’s watching on this fine, Wednesday, night. The young immortal tries to guess which of them have work in the morning, who among them will be regretting any decisions they make tonight._

_It’s hard to believe anybody could be having a bad night at all inside here. The dance floor is sprawling and large, hard wood floors perfect for spinning your partner around and around. Tables and chairs are set up off to the sides, filled with large groups of friends laughing at a joke only they stand a chance of hearing over the live music blasting from the centre stage. Men and women smile alike, everyone beautiful, everyone handsome in the dim, almost fairy like chandelier lighting that hangs from the ceiling._

_“What brings you here?”_

_Speaking of handsome…_

_“Just needed a night to forget.” Jack says coolly to the stranger who just took up the bar stool beside him. His whiskey arrives and Jack pulls out his wallet to pay._

_“It’s on me.” The man says, pushing Jack’s hand away before passing over his own money. Jack raises an eyebrow._

_“You’re too kind.” He states with a coy smile. Jack should have guessed his night would go this way; though this is quicker than usual and even rarer to see another man making the first move – most often Jack must dodge an offended punch from another club patron before he finds someone of his own persuasion._

_“It’s nothing.” The stranger shrugs, sipping as his drink as Jack takes a mouthful of his own. It burns. He likes it when it burns. “Thomas.” He introduces. “Thomas Parry.”_

_“Captain Jack Harkness.” Comes the smooth response complete with that trade mark smirk he holds so well._

_Another sip of his drink. Jack’s finding it to be disappearing quite quickly. Thomas seems to notice._

_“What are you forgetting?” Thomas asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. Jack does not indulge it._

_“Ah, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” Jack answers, a slight shake of his head accompanying his words. Another, longer, drink now. He feels the warmth of a hand against his thigh._

_Perhaps it’s the lack of human contact recently, perhaps it’s the fact that this is not his first whiskey of the night… or perhaps it’s simply that Jack Harkness is not one to turn down the advances of another human. Whichever happens to be the case that night, it doesn’t take long for the two men to be dragging each other out the back door of the club and stumble out into the cool winter’s chill of the alley outside._

_Jack’s mind is anything but clear, muddled in a haze of both alcohol and lust. There are hands against his body, pulling at his clothing as if neither of them cares much that the bite of the breeze is harrowingly cold. There’s enough body heat between them that passion drives them forward._

_Lips clash together hurriedly, drinking in a stranger as though it’s their last night on earth. Jack finds many of the men he pairs with on these nights react the same, giving the suggestion that kissing the lips they want to kiss is a rarity, not a luxury. Jack always gives them what they desire._

_An exploring tongue parts Jack’s lips and he allows it as his hands his touch the bare skin of Thomas’ chest. Jack relishes in these nights. Complete and utter freedom to forget every bad memory and replace it with the rush of one good night if only for a few hours._

_F_ _ingers wander up to Jack’s neck as their kiss surges forward, the two men getting into the pace of it all as Jack’s back hits freezing brick. He smirks into the other’s lips._

_The grip around his neck tightens and Jack lets out a soft moan of enjoyment._

_Fingers close in._

_Jack’s smirk suddenly fades._

_His airways close up and Thomas pulls back from his lips with a malicious look upon a once handsome face._

_“Tell me about Torchwood.” He hisses as Jack begins to choke. No words had been spoken about the secret organisation beneath Cardiff, no information of the sort exchanged. Conversation between the two had simply formed of casual flirting, a few bought drinks and hurried affair in the back alley._

_“I…-- don’t know--… what you mean--…” Jack gasps out as Thomas’s other hand joins it’s partner around Jack’s neck. The cold is creeping in faster than ever. It starts at his spine, where his back is pushed flush against the wall, and spirals out down his limbs._

_“Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood Three. You know exactly what I mean.” Thomas pushes. He knows something, though Jack isn’t sure how much. He’ll play dumb until it kills him._

_It just might._

_“Never—heard of…-- it.” Jack lies insistently. It won’t save his life but it may save that of his colleagues tonight. That will be enough. The hands around his neck close in tighter, stopping any air at all now from entering or leaving his body._

_This is when the struggle truly begins. Jack rips at the grip on him but the two men are seemingly equal in strength. So he brings up a knee, and aims for the shin bone but Thomas tactfully dodges his attack._

_His head begins to spin._

_“You’re not gonna spill?” Thomas suggests. His accent isn’t Welsh, Jack’s only just noticed that this evening. Why is he noticing that now? He shakes his head fervently. “Fine. Your funeral.” He mutters._

_It’s not long before the world goes black. Jack croaking for air as bruises are surely left upon his skin. He struggles till the end, till he ends up slumped – a dead weight – against the wall._

Jack wakes that night like life surging back into his body. He throws himself forward, one long and large gasp for air as he begs his heart rate to slow and his head to stop spinning. He reaches for the man that is always behind him--.

Ianto’s missing.

Of course, they agreed to spend the night apart this evening. Ianto had laundry to do and they had spent the best part of a week in each other’s company each and every night. It seemed healthy to spend just one night in separate locations.

But, as the sweat pools on Jack’s forehead and he struggles to release himself from the tangle of long white bedsheets, Jack regrets that decision immensely.

The next events are something of a blur. He remembers his body doing the actions involved but whether his brain was much in control of those actions is still up for debate. However, at two in the morning of a warm summer’s evening Jack finds himself standing out of Ianto Jones’ flat.

He’s not something to behold, if Jack could ever not be. With a pale faced complexion, his great coat slung haphazardly over a white T-shirt and one of Ianto’s lounge pants for the sake of Ianto’s neighbours, and his hair stuck out at odd angles all over the place; Jack does not scream “well rested” to any passer-by.

Did he press the doorbell?

He can’t remember…

Should he press the doorbell?

Does Ianto have a doorbell…?

Oh wait, no. Jack has a key.

The door swings open from his own doing and, for two horrible seconds, Jack panics somewhat that, at this god-awful time of the morning, he has somehow gotten the wrong flat. But luckily, it’s not the eighty-year-old woman from across the hall sitting on her sofa and, instead, one of the most beautiful faces Jack could possibly be greeted with at this moment.

Ianto’s face looks up to him for a moment as though he is expecting orders for some alien threat, but it’s quick to soften into concern. Jack would not come over to Ianto’s flat simply to drive him back to the Hub if aliens were the culprit of this visit.

“You alright?” Ianto asks carefully.

“Yeah…” Jack answers slowly. He blinks a couple of times as something in his brain suddenly wakes up from a long and arduous trance. His arms fall to his sides, letting his coat undo and flaunt his pyjamas to the apartment. Ianto’s wearing a similar style, he notes. It’s the first thing he’s truly taken in since waking up. “Sorry, not sure…” He says, looking around himself. “Not sure how I ended up here…” He admits.

Jesus Christ, where did he park the SUV?

Ianto pushes himself to his feet and away from the couch. He crosses the room with a hand out stretched that comes to rest on Jack’s cheek, fingers sliding down to the curve of his jaw. The immortal flinches for a split second before the touch works as miracle cure for the tension in his shoulders. He’s been holding himself so stiffly as he stood there – uncomfortable and unsure – but Ianto touches his skin and it melts from him like the first drip of wax from a candle freshly lit

“Nightmares?” Ianto asks knowingly. He is no stranger to the nights that Jack has surged forward to wake, eyes wild and breath heavy. While nightmares are far and few between when Ianto is tucked beside him, they are not banished for good. Nothing ever could. But they’re certainly easier to deal with when his beloved is in arm’s reach. A knight in shining armour, poised to fight his demons every day and night.

God, he truly loves him.

“Yeah…” Jack answers mutedly.

“C’mere.” Ianto responds, his hand finding Jack’s carefully before leading him towards the sofa. Jack allows himself to be guided across and sat in place before his Welshman disappears from view.

Stiff posture returns, shoulders high and uncomfortable and his back as straight as a board. He has no clue what to do with his hands. While his eyes would often coolly follow his lover around the flat, gaze trained on that magnificent welsh ass, today he can do little more than sit and stare at the fluffy carpet that covers Ianto’s living room.

Ianto loves that carpet, Jack focuses. Jack remembers one tipsy evening, the two of them finding themselves back at Ianto’s flat one Saturday evening when Ianto had kicked off his shoes to simply feel the softness of the material beneath his feet. He’d whispered in drunken laughs to Jack that he loved carpet for that exact reason and, the morning after, Jack had the pleasure of watching a slightly hungover, but incredibly domestic Ianto, shuffle bare feet across the living room with a bed head that could set records and a plate of scrambled egg.

Jack relaxes just a little.

Ianto enters the room with a glass of water, presumably for him. He pauses in the doorway, watching the sight that is his captain. It’s a sight to tug at the heart strings.

The glass is placed on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa, and Ianto takes his regular spot. An arm wraps around his Captain, pulling him flush against his side. Until Ianto’s touch is true on his skin, he’s sure he can still feel the hands of his enemies wrapped around his throat. Ianto replaces that with something good.

“It’s okay Jack. You’re awake, and you’re ‘ere with me…” Ianto promises him earnestly.

Jack flops uselessly into Ianto’s side. He doesn’t feel the desire to hold himself up any longer and his body was beginning to ache from the tension he was holding. He practically folds into his boyfriend, turning his head just enough to kiss the underside of Ianto’s jaw before his gaze turns back to the room.

He’s normally better at avoiding this mess. Sleep isn’t necessary for Captain Jack Harkness. Not anymore. In fact, before Ianto Jones, he was actively avoiding it. And that had been his plan for tonight. One night separated, Jack was sure he could keep himself busy. There had to be things he could look into, keep his brain active.

However, at around ten that evening, his office chair had begun to lose its comfort. No matter how he shifted it refuses to make his muscles ache less and he was growing weary of its rigid position. So, Jack gathered up his equipment and brought them down to his bunk to work on them in the comfort of his bed.

There began the mistake of the evening. Stripping down from his every day clothes into something far more comfortable, the constant lull of the waterfall from deep within the Hub and the familiar scent of Ianto on the pillow beside him had caused his eyes to flutter shut and within seconds, his brain had trapped him into a false sense of security nap.

“Asphyxiation…” Jack says despite not being asked. “Slow and panicked.”

Ianto doesn’t move his hand to cup Jack’s face as he usually would do, probably not wanting to crowd Jack or remind him further of the nightmare. Instead, his hand drops to Jack’s chest and his palms presses flat against it. He can feel the heavy pounding of a heart not yet fully calmed beneath the surface.

“Was this a memory?” Ianto’s voice is slow as his head rests it’s cheek atop Jack’s head, only turning slightly to press lips against his Captain’s dark hair for a moment

“Yes.” Jack answers, probably just a little too quick but he can’t help it. They’re always memories; Jack’s brain doesn’t need to conjure new ideas of hell for he has enough within the memory banks to last his eternity. His eyes drop down to the palm against his chest and without thinking he reaches over to cover Ianto’s hand with his own. Fingers slot together perfectly in place.

With a slight twist to his wrist, Ianto takes Jack’s hand fully into his own. His thumb traces lightly over the skin there.

“Right…” He sighs, but Jack can tell it’s not one of annoyance but understanding. Ianto’s own nightmares are simply memories as well. “Talk about it? Or try and forget it?” Ianto asks gently, and his hold shifts so that the hand holding Jack close against his side lifts to thread fingers through the immortal’s hair.

“Forget about it.” Jack decides.

Some nights he will indulge Ianto Jones in the horrors of his mind – ones with particular meanings or significance. But not this, not simply a death that harrowed him for no other reason than death is a cruel and harsh mistress that refuses to spare him. No, there is no point in divulging the details just to see the sadness behind his boyfriend’s eyes when he realises there is nothing to be done about a death long ago.

He breathes in deep, letting his head rest firmly against Ianto’s shoulder and focuses only on the feeling of fingers in his hair.

“Okay.” Ianto answers, and that is that. He won’t press Jack for details, he never has. He releases his hold on his boyfriend’s hand and instead reaches out to take the television remote into his grasp and increases the volume. “Had it on to try and get to sleep, seems to be right up your alley.”

There is, perhaps, a hint of teasing that Jack can detect in an attempt to lessen the tension within the air. It works. Jack cracks the first smile since he arrived at the apartment.

The film itself is some feel-good movie that Jack recognises, barely, to be Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Ianto’s not a fan of it, he’s sure, but between this and the straight-to-DVD horror film they both know to be lurking on the next channel at this time in the morning, this is the one Jack would be rather be watching.

Jack falls silent against Ianto, save for the breath of air that he pushes from his nose in some form of half-hearted laugh.

After a few moments, Ianto shifts so that they’re lying more comfortably instead of sitting up against each other. Jack takes the opportunity to shed himself of his great coat, leaving it in close reach against the back of the sofa. Ianto lays on his back, and Jack knows that’s not his preferred position, but he does so to ensure Jack’s back is cushioned by the couch and that his head can rest comfortably atop his chest.

Jack feels lucky in this moment.

Slender fingers find his boyfriend’s hair, not for the first time that night, and his head turns to steal a tender kiss from Jack’s lips before both their gazes return to the TV instead. Jack has no idea how long they both lay there together before he breaks the silence. He spends it listening to Ianto’s heart beat strong and steady against his ear. His fingers reach up to any pulse point they can find, focusing his attentions on life that can be felt beneath his touch.

“Sorry…” Jack apologises once again. “I didn’t mean to crash your evening to yourself with my handsome face.” He says, throwing in some of his usual humour to try and give off an air that he’s at least doing better than when he first stumbled into his apartment.

“Hm?” Ianto starts, his head turning back to Jack and looking at him. “As you should be. Me and my laundry were havin’ quite the lovely night in together.” He says with a smirk that would make anyone else want to punch him in those beautiful lips. Instead, it makes Jack want to kiss him.

He indulges in that desire, pushing himself up for just a moment in order for lips to meet lips. There’s a roll of his eyes as he finds himself in that same position, though it’s quite quickly defused as Ianto’s fingers untangle themselves from Jack’s hair and instead trail up and down his spine.

“It’s not something to apologise for, Jack _really_.” Ianto says in a softer voice, nothing but sincerity in his tone. Jack believes him.

So, he buries himself deeper into Ianto’s chest, pushing his nose into the warmth of the white pyjama top that matches his own. Is it his own? He smiles a little and thinks about how to respond. There isn’t anything he wishes to say except ‘I love you’ but those words have yet to fall from his lips in any form no matter how much his heart sings it.

He decides to stay quiet. Instead, he brings his hand to rest against Ianto’s shoulder – taking a fistful of white shirt into his grip and allows his entire body to engulf the other the longer they lay there.

An uncertain amount of time passes before Jack’s eyes flutter closed. His brain filled with the sounds of the movie and his body utterly relaxed against his boyfriend, sleep pulls from him.

**_No._ **

Jack startles himself awake. Sleeping will not lead to something good. It will lead to sweat covered nightmares and panicked breathing with a side effect of a pounding heart against his ribcage. Jack doesn’t want that. He wants to feel content and happy against the chest of his incredible boyfriend.

But there’s a hand flat against his back, pressing him firmly into Ianto’s chest and a tightened grip around his general being. His cheek is cupped, Ianto’s thumb rubbing lightly over the skin in a way that Jack has recently connoted with being one of the most reassuring sensations possible.

“I’ve got you, Jack. I’m right ‘ere.” Ianto’s voice floats like a whisper on the breeze, soft and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

Jack hums his reply, a response to show he’s heard and understood. His eyes drop closed as he focuses on the thumb against his cheek. It’s true, Ianto has him and with Ianto it’s safe to sleep. Since day one, Ianto has been safety to sleep.

As the grip on his cheek is relinquished and Jack’s head returns to its customary place against the welshman’s chest, he allows his eyes to remain closed.

The 80’s film blaring from the television is allowed to numb his mind and Ianto Jones is allowed to fill his senses. The next time he drifts off, Jack does not fight it. He allows it to happen, soft and slow with the reassurance that this time Ianto Jones is less than arm’s length away.


End file.
